


How Does It Feel John?

by SailorSage



Category: Hitman: Agent 47 (2015)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blood, Bondage, Drugging, I'm Going to Hell, Knife Play, M/M, Non-Consensual Bondage, Rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-19 12:15:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4746161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SailorSage/pseuds/SailorSage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Knowing you'll never be better than me?"</p><p>-</p><p>47 is sick of John's cocky attitude and decides to put him in his place.</p><p>(Please read the tags and know that this is not a happy fic and is not meant to be "romantic" in any way shape or form.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Does It Feel John?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AlexanderPeterson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexanderPeterson/gifts).



> Fic trade with KayKatastr0phe
> 
> Go check out her side too. 
> 
> I'm going straight to hell for this.
> 
> Sorry not sorry.

47 had been stalking his prey for weeks, watching John's every move. Not that he noticed. For someone who claimed to be better than him in every aspect he really was stupid. 

He knew his routine, what he did from the time his eyes opened until the time they closed again that night. He was so predicable, so plain, so conventional. 

47 was waiting, he had "broken" into John's apartment, breaking being used lightly since he broken nothing. He had removed his jacket and shoes, keeping on his holster and the safety off his guns. 47 sat on the edge of John's bed, back straight and legs crossed looking at the bedroom door. 

Fifty-two seconds until John entered his home, one hundred and twenty seconds until he entered his room. 

As the seconds ticked away, 47 went over his mental checklist. Click. The front door. 

47 stood up and silently moved behind the bedroom door, his gun in his hand, finger on the trigger. Sixty eight more seconds until he made his move. He could hear John in the living room, removing his jacket and putting away his guns. The thought made 47's lips twitch into a smirk. 

Thirty-one seconds.

John turned off his security systems.

Twelve.

Shoes off.

Five. 

Walking down the hall.

Three.

Two.

One.

The door clicked open and before John had a chance to turn on the light, 47 had grabbed a hold of him and smashed his head against the wall. John's head hit the wall with a small crunch and his body crumpled when 47 let go of his neck. 47 put his gun away, disappointed that he didn't have to use it. He liked the idea of putting more bullets into John. 

47 lifted John's body with ease and tossed him onto the bed. He pulled on a pair of thick leather gloves before pulling out two long cords of thick rope with titanium alloys. One of contacts had known a guy who made him his new weapon of choice, for a price of course. But 47 couldn't put a price on what he was going to do, what he was going to see.

He would pay anything to see John broken and bleeding under him, begging for him to stop, begging for his mercy. He licked his lips at the thought. 47 moved to the side of the bed, positioning John's limbs the way he'd planned. Taking one of the cords he tied it around John's wrists, making sure it was tight. He wanted it to cut into his wrists when he struggled. 47 tossed the rope under the mattress and walked to the other side of the bed. He picked up the cord and tied that end to John's other wrist. There was just enough slack for John to struggle without putting 47 in punching range without one of John's arms ripping out of socket.

47 moved to John's legs next, running his hand across John's thigh. John was already stirring back into consciousness and 47 sighed with disappointment, he wanted to savor this but it looked like he wasn't going to have a chance. 

_Maybe next time._

47 quickly ripped John's pants off of him, and tied his ankles in a similar situation to his wrists. He looked over his handy work, head titled to the side before nodding to himself; satisfied with the situation. 47 left the room and pulled out one of John's whiskey bottles, grabbed a glass from his cupboard, and returned to the bedroom. He sat the bottle and glass down on the side table and sat down in the arm chair in the corner. He'd moved it earlier so he could see John's face when he awoke. 47 poured himself a glass of whiskey and took a sip as he watched John try to move around, still not fully awake.

"I hope you don't mind, I took the liberty of pouring myself some whiskey," 47 said, eyes focused on John's face. John's eyes snapped open and he tried to pull his arms forward, only to yelp in pain. John's eyes were wide and the look was primal and full of hate as they locked with 47's.

"Fuck you," John spat, baring his teeth. 47 smirked as he took another sip of the whiskey.

"I would of brought my own if I had known you bought cheap shite." He drawled on, looking over to his collection of guns and knives. He could hear John testing his restraints and hissing in pain as his limbs were bent in odd angles and the rope cut into his skin.

47 stood up, setting the glass on the table and approached John, letting his fingers drag lightly across the length of John's body. When his hand reached John's shoulder he looked down at his prey. John was a such a beautiful sight, eyes wide burning with hate, teeth bared and his chest heaving. He loved that he was too stupid to know when to back down, too know when he was beat.

"How does it feel John?" 47 asked, moving his hand to John's neck and wrapping his long fingers around it. John growled up at him, struggling against his bonds and snapping his teeth. John looked liked a trapped animal, and it sent bolts of pleasure up 47's spine. 

"Knowing you'll _never_ be better than me." 47 enunciated each word. 

"I'm going to rip out your throat with my bare hands!" John snarled and 47 chuckled.

He walked back to the side table a took another sip of the whiskey. John craned his neck so he could watch 47's every move. 47 pulled a black briefcase out from under his jacket and set it on the table next to his knives. He clicked it open and pulled out a small bottle of clear liquid. Behind him he could hear John snarl and cuss.

47 turned around a showed off the tiny bottle, reveling in the look that spread across John's face. It was one close to terror. 

"At first, I wasn't going to use any." 47 said with cold precision. He could see John's throat bob as he swallowed, eyes darting quickly back and forth between the bottle and 47's eyes. 

"I wanted you to suffer as much as possible," 47 slowly approached the bed, popping open the cap and grinned. John started to thrash around and 47 could see blood starting to bead around his ankles and wrists.

"Fuck you!" John howled.

"But then I thought to myself, I don't want whore blood on my dick," 47 continued with a smirk. He moved between John's legs and pulled a knife out of his holster. 47 used it to help him rip away John's boxers as he struggled against the restraints.

"If you don't want to be missing your cock in three seconds, you'll lay there and take it like the bitch you are," 47 growled as he moved up the length of John's body, choking him with one hand and running the blade of his knife lightly against John's thigh, leaving a wake of red skin and small beads of blood.

John's breath caught in his throat at the burn on his skin, the sharp pang was unexpected. 

"Fuck you." 

47's fingers tightened around John's throat as he narrowed his eyes. John's face started to turn red from lack of oxygen as he began to gasp, pulling at his binds. 47 could see John's shoulders strain as he pulled to each side and he chuckled. He straddled John's chest and put his body weight into the grip on John's neck watching as John struggled to breathe. 47 only released his grip when he saw John's eye start to roll back into his head.

John gasped and sputtered when his throat was released. 47 worked quickly, pulling open John's white dress shirt open, ripping out all the buttons in the process. He watched John's chest heave as he tried to catch his breath, studying the rapid rise and fall. Forty-Seven slashed his knife across John's pectoral, making a short but deep cut right under his left nipple. He savored the sharp inhale John made as the blood pooled at the surface of his skin.

"I'm going to kill you," John threatened, glaring down at his chest at the agent. 47 smirked up at him before moving his mouth to the cut on John's chest. He lapped up the blood and pressed his lips against the skin, sucking lightly and reveling in the goose bumps that broke out across John's bare chest as the man's breath hitched. He kept eye contact with John, watching his pupils expand and his nostrils flair. 47 moved his lips up to John's nipple and flicked it with his tongue, sucking until it got hard. 

"You're fucking sick," John growled down at the agent, baring his teeth again and 47's lips twitched up into a grin. The agent's fingers trailed down John's bare chest stopping at the base of his cock. John snarled and hissed as 47's hand roughly grabbed his flaccid cock and began pumping it with a painful grip. 

John felt his cheeks flush as he let out a shaky breath and scrunched his eyes, the feeling was incredibly uncomfortable but his cock seemed to disagree as it started to rise. He turned his head to the side, keeping his eyes closed. Like fucking hell he was going to give 47 the satisfaction he was seeking. He felt the agent shift above him, and his lips brush against his neck.

"You were made to be like this John, beneath me like the slut you are," 47 growled in his ear, taking the lobe in between his teeth. John's eyes snapped open and he tried to pull both of his arms forward with all his strength. 47leaned back and chuckled, letting the man struggle underneath him. 

"Fuck you! I'll fucking kill you!" John practically screamed, looking back at the agent eyes wide with rage. 47 smirked down at him before working his way back down between John's legs, picking up the lube he had set down by John's arse. The agent popped open the bottle and lifted it so John could see, grinning when the man glared back at him with parted lips, ragged breathe and flared nostrils. 

 

47 made sure John could see everything he was doing, taking his time coating his fingers thoroughly, breaking eye contact to watch his fingers trace over John's cock causing him to snarl. The agent slipped his finger between John's cheeks and traced around his hole, glancing up at John to see him looking more disheveled than enraged.

"When I'm done with you, you'll be screaming my name," 47 growled and pushed his finger into John before he had a chance to retort. John gritted his teeth and grunted, pulling at his binding and trying to breathe through the burn. 47 added a second finger before John could adjust and he let out a ragged breath, his arms and legs started to quiver. 

"F-fuck you," 

47 looked up at John and narrowed his eyes before forcing a third finger into John. John's eyes widened and he left out a yelp, pulling his arms and legs forward as much as he could. He could feel tears forming and he quickly blinked them away, hoping the agent didn't notice. He could take a bullet, he'll be damned if he lets this pain show.

47 thrust his fingers in John a few time watching his chest heave and limbs strain against the binds. The skin around John's ankles and wrists was beginning to become raw and the agent smirked. He pulled his fingers out with a quick motion and John choked. 47 looked down at his fingers with disgust as they were now speckled with blood. He wiped them on John's stomach and hopped off the bed, going back to his suitcase. He could hear John stir behind him and when he turned around his cock jerked at the sight before him.

John was a fucking wreck, his hair plastered to his face with sweat, pupils blown, lips parted and he was panting. 47 noticed with mild amusement that John was still trying to glare at him but failing miserably. He looked more pleading than anything and the sight sent bolts of pleasure down his spine. 

47 tore open the small wrapper in his hand and slipped a condom on, getting on the bed a positioning himself in between John's legs. He picked up the small bottle and coated his cock with it, stroking it until he was fully erect. 47 sat up on his heels and admired the man beneath him.

" _Fuck.._ " 47 breathed out, lining up his cock and pushing it in. He couldn't hold back his primal urges anymore. John growled underneath him still trying to keep up his tough façade. His growl quickly changed to whines as 47 slammed repeatedly into John over and over. The agent didn't waist time finding John's prostate and began thrusting into him at an angle as hard as he could without breaking his hips.

John felt his cock stir and he shouted as the agent above him hit his prostate. He was straining against his bonds with all his strength, trying to get away from the burn in his ass. He was beyond stopping the tears from welling up in his eyes as he got hard even through the pain.

 

"Looks like you're just as sick as I am," 47 laughed and grabbed John's cock roughly, stroking him in tandem with his thrusts. John let out a yowl as he came all over his stomach and the agents hand, harder than he'd ever come before and he felt sick. 47 let go of John's cock, continuing to thrust into him. He pressed his come covered fingers on John's lips until the man closed his eyes, let out a small sob and parted his lips, sucking on 47's fingers as the pushed into his mouth. 

"Good boy," 47 purred moving his hands down to grip John's waist hard enough to bruise and picked up his speed. John mewled at each thrust, squeezing his eyes shut tight and at the sight 47 could feel his ball tightening. With the impending John and bit down on his collar bone, not hard enough to break skin but hard enough that there would be a large bruise for several weeks. John practically screamed, and 47 came with a growl, thrusting through the orgasm. 

It took several deep breathes for 47 to regain his composure. He pulled himself out of John and stood up, pulling the condom off his cock and tossed it in the trash. The agent walked into the master bathroom, a smirk plastered across his face as he washed John's blood off his hands. 47 came back into the bedroom and looked over John, committing the sight to his memory. John's eyes were closed and his brow was knitted together in pain, tears staining his cheeks. He was the definition of utterly wrecked and 47 loved it. 

John seemed to recede into his own world as 47 got dressed and pulled out a syringe from his briefcase. He filled it with a paralyzing poison, nothing lethal, but strong enough to subdue John long enough for 47 to get the fuck out of dodge. The agent approached John and smirked as he turned his head away from him, not even opening his eyes. 47 slipped the needle into John's arm and pushed the poison into his bloodstream and within seconds John was unconscious. 47 untied John's wrists and ankles, wrapping up the blood stained rope and tossing it in his briefcase along with the syringe and bottle of lube, then clicking it shut. 

 

47 pulled on his Italian wool coat, picked up his briefcase and left the unconscious John laying on his bed, broken and bloody with a cocky smirk on his face.

 

~~~

John awoke several hours later. Pain was the first thing he could register until he recalled what that bastard did to him. His pain boiled into blistering fury. John struggled to get out of his bed and into the living room, limping and leaving a trail of blood that dripped down his legs. On the kitchen counter, next to his cell phone was a plain white card with 'John' written on the front in beautiful curly font. John glowered and picked up the card and opened it looking down at the sentence printed inside it.

I am better than you and I always will be.

 

John crushed the card in his hand and picked up his cell phone, smashing numbers into it and pressing send.

"John, what can I do for you?" The man's voice on the other side asked in a careful voice.

"I want Agent 47's head on a fucking platter," John yelled into the phone, growling and pacing angrily through the burn in his arse. " _NOW._ "


End file.
